


The Noises in Your Head

by Flash_Fiction



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Actor!Roman, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, Arguing, Barista!Logan, Barista!Patton, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Implied Aphobia, M/M, Poison Mention, The Staring at of Butts, Violent Thoughts, implied Trans!Virgil, past bad relationship, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flash_Fiction/pseuds/Flash_Fiction
Summary: Roman Rossi was once the high school’s heartthrob and sworn enemy of Logan Ackroyd. Now he’s stuck at a bar with his infuriating ex and the voices in his head. Luckily for him, his old rival shows up to save him.OrSanders Sides human au where Roman has sidesOrRivals-to-fake dating-to-friends-to-maybe something more!Logince
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	The Noises in Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonWithProblems](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DragonWithProblems).



It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but that was how all of Roman’s favorite horror stories began. It was simply dark and night, and the only storm brewing was the metaphorical sort.

The bar was a crowded one, though more for their atmosphere than quality of drinks. Roman had been there once or twice before, and, while it was excellent for a meetup spot or a  
quick fix, those who wanted to savor their alcohol would be better off searching elsewhere. So it really was no surprise when his old highschool theatre group and their persistently poor tastes selected this specific bar for their reunion. It also happened to be an unwalkable distance from his apartment and well out of the way of public transport, meaning Roman had to drive home and consequently hadn’t a drop of alcohol in his system. Contrary to popular belief, he was smart enough not to drive while intoxicated.

It wasn’t like Roman actually wanted to be here anyway. Most of the people here were acquaintances at best, and even that was a bit of a stretch. None of them had bothered to keep in touch, and even now they were preoccupied with drunkenly gushing over their love lives and latest productions. _You never reached out either_ , a painfully familiar, painfully snide, painfully reasonable voice in his head pointed out. All ties and polos and spectacles, it was someone he’d drifted away from long ago. Not quite, but a fragment of him, Roman supposed.

_Shut up and let me sulk_ , he fired back, _I’m right, but I shouldn’t say it._

_Your loss._ Roman wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been holding conversations with his personified thoughts, but his therapist presumed it to be a coping mechanism for his crippling loneliness. Roman presumed it to be him being a pathetic loser.

_Hey, loosen up a little and have a drink or two,_ a different mental voice suggested. _Maybe even bootlick some beefcake to spend the night with! After all, it takes two to tango…._

Roman, red-faced, shook his head to clear it. _Stop, I don’t need that right now. I just want to get out of here and go home!_

_You know you wanna_ , the voice purred, sounding like his brother with his mustache and kitchen knives and chaos bleeding from his fingertips. The voices were always people he knew, as if they’d crawled into his head to impart unto him their wisdom. Or horniness.

“I’ll pass, leave me alone,” Roman snapped, glaring at his knees as he crossed his legs and jammed his hands between them. His cheeks were scorching, and the heat through his slacks was a stark contrast to the chill of his hands. 

“Oh, surely you don’t mean that. I’ve only just arrived, I wanted to catch up,” a thick voice behind him drawled. Just the sound of him was enough to make Roman’s skin crawl, but the moment he turned to look at the speaker out of sheer gracious politeness he felt as though he was going to die.

Roman’s stomach lurched into his throat and caught there, a shiver skittering up his spine and a chill blasting through his veins with all the rage of a Canadian snowstorm. Like, the kind that intimidates the Canadians themselves. Intense, right? The stress/panic/paranoia voice in his head--never failing to sound like his roommate and best (only) friend, Virgil--roared into his ears to _Run, run, get out, don’t look back!_

Instead, Roman tried a smile as he stared into the face of a man he wished he would never see again. Brian Reyes had been a constant in his life for several years, his other half in a relationship Roman had been sure could only end with a ring and a chapel. Evidently, however, that was not the case. When the depression came spiraling down and Roman cut himself off from his entire world, Brian was included in that. When they tried again and Brian found out that Roman’s thoughts manifested in imaginary versions of his friends that lived in his head, it was “a little too wannabe quirky” for him. The two hadn’t crossed paths in a year and hadn’t spoken in far longer.

“Hey,” Roman managed, patting himself on the back as his voice hardly trembled. “I...didn’t expect to see you here. You a regular?”

Brian invited himself to sit and gave hearty, haughty scoff. “As if. This place hardly meets my standards. If I recall, yours are even higher. So what brings you here?”

_He doesn’t need to know that, don’t say anything!_ Anxiety insisted, hands clamped over his ears and face screwed up as his voice boomed like thunder.

Logic, nose tilted high and glasses perched upon it, countered with an air of arrogant authority, _It is highly unlikely he means any harm, there is no reason to withhold the truth from him._

Roman tucked his ankles behind the legs of his barstool and stared at the floor. “Oh, you know, needed to get out of the house.”

“Right, right, of course. Are you still living with that emo character? Virgin, was it?”

“Virgil,” Roman corrected sharply, unsure why the nickname struck a nerve with him. Perhaps it was that Virgil had once confided in him about the harassment he’d suffered in highschool when he’d first chosen the name. Perhaps Roman was just especially irritable around his ex. 

Brian just waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. I assume you still talk with your little imaginary friends? You seemed to be earlier, at least.”

“Can it, Reyes,” Roman blurted, then his face turned a mortified, terrified, mottled pale-scarlet as Brian raised one of the perfectly-groomed brows he’d once so admired.

“Touchy, touchy. Is it really so wrong of me to want to know what you’re up to these days? We were so close once upon a time, though with how this conversation is going I suppose it isn’t a great shock that things didn’t work out between us.” The cocky bastard grinned as if he’d made some sort of great joke or brilliant observation.

_Punch him_ , Anxiety suggested.

_Nutshot, that’ll take care of him,_ The Duke chimed in.

_Is violence really the answer we should be leaning toward?_ Logic questioned.

_Yes._

_Absolutely._

Roman could feel the persuasive, sensible side of himself shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. _That was...purely rhetorical. Perhaps running from this situation is not such a bad idea, Anxiety. Could we revisit that instead?_

Anxiety shrugged, dark eyeliner dripping. _Fight or flight, pick your poison._

_Poison? I fail to see how either of these options is even a consumable, much less one proving fatal to us._

_Figure of speech, smartass_ , The Duke purred, more affectionately than insultingly. It was slightly disorienting how his tone and actual statements never quite seemed to match up.

Distantly, Roman could hear Brian saying something. He couldn’t quite make it out through the commotion of his inner thoughts in turmoil, however. 

_We really ought to make a decision,_ Logic pressed, _Roman seems to be growing distressed, and-_ ”Roman? Roman, are you alright? I’ve been searching for you.”

The actor in question shook himself as Logic’s volume increased, eyes narrowing on the snazzy black shoes of someone standing across from him. Whoever it was had excellent fashion taste, but clearly no regard for brand names. Their shoes had been shined and polished so Roman could nearly see his reflection in them. He jumped suddenly as a hand landed on his shoulder and lifted his head. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. It hadn’t been Logic speaking.

There, before Brian and Roman in all his nerdy glory, was Roman’s highschool rival and basis for his logical persona. The man, the myth, the legend, Logan Edmund Ackroyd, stood at a striking six feet tall. He was smartly dressed, having deviated from his high school obsession with polos and ties but keeping his thick plastic glasses frames. His eyes were starry and more stunning than Roman remembered, and he’d filled out with a glowup to rival Kylie Jenner. Roman realized with a jolt that he’d been staring, and Logan was still questioning him.

“I...I’m alright,” he managed with a strained smile, “just need more beauty rest.”

Brian was staring between the two nemeses with an astounded look on his face that slowly morphed into a haughty smirk. “You hooked up with _Ackroyd_? Shit, I guess all those gossiping cheerleaders were right about you two having the hots for each other. Just couldn’t keep your horny little hands to yourself, huh? Say, Logan, does he do the things for you that he always said he never would? He was so stubborn with me.”

Roman felt his eyes start to sting. The fragments in his head were silent, but he could feel the quivering of Anxiety and the fuzzy, fruitless attempts at comfort from Logic. The Duke, despite his own sense of humor, was squirming with rage. 

Logan’s hand on his shoulder tightened. “Brian, if you’ll pardon the conversation being cut short, I do believe my boyfriend and I should be departing. He’s been under high amounts of stress due to a rigorous production schedule and really must be getting an appropriate amount of rest.”

_Boyfriend_. The word had rolled off of his tongue so easily. Roman’s brain short-circuited briefly at the thought, but he settled for just playing along as he leaned into the grounding squeeze at his shoulder.

“By all means, don’t let me keep you. I don’t mind at all,” Brian claimed, though the look in his eyes told a different story. “We should meet and catch up soon, though. Don’t be a stranger!” Ah, there it was.

“We must be going,” Logan insisted firmly, disregarding the notion entirely. With that, he pulled Roman from his stool, wrapped his coat around his shoulders, and escorted him out the door and into the street. 

Roman shivered at the sudden shock of the cold outside and slid his arms into his coat sleeves carefully, still unconsciously leaning into Logan and letting himself be led wherever Logan desired. It may, in hindsight, have been foolish to trust an old rival to lead him to safety, but Logan had done nothing to pique suspicion and Roman was far too drained to resist. 

Roman allowed himself to be ushered into an elegant coffee shop farther down the street and eased into a booth, watching warily as Logan settled across from him. “Alright, Ackroyd. What’s your scheme?” he demanded tiredly.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Logan answered primly, flipping through a menu. He stared at the pages, but his eyes weren’t roving back and forth the way they always did when he was reading and-

_Why do you know that, you creep?!_ Anxiety was whirring like a persistent phone on vibrate inside Roman’s head, and he scoffed.

“Don’t play dumb, it isn’t a good look on you. As much I appreciate the save, I know there’s more going on here than just good will. We _detest_ one another, in case you’d forgotten.”

“I hadn’t, though I had assumed you’d left some of it behind us. Evidently, however, that is not the case.” Logan promptly closed his unread menu and set it aside. “Do you know what you want?”

_Oh, definitely_ , The Duke drawled, manicured nails twirling through Logic’s hair. _You._

Roman flushed brilliantly and shook himself. “I beg your pardon?” 

“To order. Assuming you didn’t eat or drink anything at the bar.” Logan’s patience seemed to be fast diminishing, and the actor cowered.

“...No, I didn’t, but I really can’t afford it…” he admitted uncomfortably, scuffing his toe along the pristine tile floor. 

Logan smiled a little and _oh, that looked far too good on him._ Roman wasn’t sure if it was from relief or good old-fashioned attraction, but his stomach did a light little tap dance. “Do you really think so lowly of me that you expect me to make you pay? I wouldn’t have brought you here if I did.”

“Well, who expected the stoic Mister Ackroyd to possess such chivalry?” Roman’s voice was soft, sincere. 

“I’d hardly call it chivalry. Pity, perhaps.” Logan was _smirking_ now, and _god, this man was going to be the death of him._

“I suppose that’s why you intervened back at the bar too, then? No romantic intentions whatsoever, just a pang of sympathy for little old me?” Roman pursed his lips and fluttered his lashes coyly, an action likely of Dukeish origin.

Logan remained shockingly well-composed, clearing his throat inconspicuously as a light flush rose in his cheeks. “Perhaps I possess a healthy amount of concern for your wellbeing.”

“ _My_ wellbeing? Why, I don’t believe it! Has the tin man finally melted? Did my burning passion finally break through?” Roman tapped the end of his fork to his lips, watching his companion innocently.

“And these sorts of theatrics are precisely why I chose not to associate with you in the past.” Logan’s cheeks were scarlet, burning so much Roman could have sworn they were steaming. “You really are quite meddlesome, Roman Rossi. It’s hardly any of your business my feelings towards you, as any attempt at so much as a friendship would immediately cave in on itself. I was simply offering assistance in a time of need, nothing more.”

“Alright, alright, message received. Henceforth, I shall no longer flirt with you, Mr. Ackroyd. Although to woo such a man as yourself could be considered a great feat,” Roman informed him.

Logan’s eyebrow quirked slightly upward. “I don’t suppose I should take that as a compliment. If you’re quite done, I still need to know if you want anything to eat.”

“I do,” Roman admitted, Anxiety squirming in his head now that his confident, flirtatious wall had been knocked down. The Duke had been dragged further into his subconscious by Logic, leaving only the twitchy emo aspect in control. “I’ve never eaten here before, though. Any recommendations?”

“You’re in luck, as the employees happen to be quite familiar with the menu. I’d personally suggest the sandwich sampler to a new customer.”

“You work here?” Roman balked a little, dropping his fork so it clattered against the gleaming tile and made him flinch under the turning stares of the other patrons.

“Yes, is that really so surprising? I’ve always had an affinity for coffee and cooking.” Logan let out a soft huff of amusement and stood, bending to retrieve the fork like a true gentleman.

_Stop staring at his butt_ , Anxiety hissed.

_Juicy_ , came The Duke’s idle hum, earning him an offended smack from Logic.

Roman obediently tore his eyes away and spared a glance around at the elegant black-and-white color scheme and coordinated decor of the shop. The barista behind the counter was smartly dressed in all black. “You know what? I see it now. This does seem like a very you place.”

Logan nudged his glasses up further onto the bridge of his nose with a curled finger, a smug smile gracing his features as he took his seat again. “I should hope so, since I happen to be the owner.”

“You _what_?!” Roman’s jaw dropped, and if the other customers hadn’t been staring before, now he could _definitely_ feel their judgmental gazes boring into him.

“Co-owner, technically,” Logan elaborated casually, though it was clear that he was relishing in Roman’s shock as he preened a little. “Patton Torres--the only male cheerleader for three years running, I’m sure you remember him--partnered with me to purchase and run the business.”

_Jeez, this guy keeps dropping one bombshell after another,_ Anxiety muttered, running his jagged nails along the seams of his jeans. 

The Duke purred, shoulders shimmying. _He’s a bit of a bombshell himself, ain’t he?_

_He’s very clearly a human man, and to the best of my knowledge he has not dropped any explosives_ , Logic argued with an exasperated tug on his tie. _What in the world are you two talking about?_

“Will you all be quiet for once so I can enjoy myself?” Roman muttered, chin resting heavily in his palm. He suddenly became acutely aware that Logan was staring at him, eyes shining sharply with confusion. “Not you, sorry. I…talk to myself a lot. Did not mean to say that out loud.”

Inside the head of Roman Rossi, Anxiety was beginning to pace along his worn pacing-path. _This is bad. I don’t like where this is going._

“You refer to yourself as ‘you all?’” Logan clarified, adjusting his glasses yet again. The guy had an odd tendency to fix them unnecessarily, and maybe it was just Roman being easily distracted, but it was kind of adorable.

“Sometimes it’s ‘y’all,’” he answered weakly, staring at the ground in embarrassment. The tile was slightly scratched from his fork. Whoops. He’d have to offer to pay for that. Logic made a mental sticky note.

Roman snapped back to attention as Logan spoke, looking a little frustrated. “I am confused. I don’t understand. Please explain.”

_Don’t,_ Anxiety ordered, voice thundering through his head in a panic. _Don’t say anything, don’t tell him anything, don’t!_

Roman took a deep breath and tapped his fingers along the table. “It’s okay. I...I trust him. I want to, at least.” Logan only looked more baffled and irritated, but kept his mouth shut as Roman started to elaborate. “Different aspects of my personality live in my head. I can see them, hear them, talk to them. They’re an eclectic bunch.” He laughed a little nervously.

In his head, Anxiety was beginning to rock back and forth and struggle to breathe. _No, no, no, this is going to be just like last time!_

Roman plundered on, in too far to back out now as his own breathing started to quicken and his speech grew more rapid. “I...my therapist thinks my brain made them to cope with loneliness or something. Such a theatre kid thing, right? It’s really sort of stupid, having imaginary friends at my age, I know-”

“Tell me about them,” Logan interrupted, eyes shining. “These...aspects, of yours.”

Roman and Anxiety paused, breathless. “You don’t find it...strange? Or silly?”

_Or attention-seeking?_ Anxiety’s voice was hesitant, disbelieving.

“Unusual, yes, but so are many other ways the brain copes. I find it quite fascinating, actually.” There he went, fixing his glasses again. Perhaps it was a nervous habit of his. “The way one responds to trauma can be highly unpredictable. In fact, studying individuals with unusual responses can lead to groundbreaking new-”

“Studying?” Roman could feel The Duke bristle along with him, temper flaring. “I’m not your pet project! I’m a _person_!”

_You tell ‘im, Princey! Just because he’s a hottie doesn’t mean he can talk about you like that!_

Logan quickly backtracked. “I am aware, and I never meant to imply otherwise or offend. I was simply trying to reassure you. I’ll take my leave. My apologies.” He stood and began to collect his things, movements stiff and sharp. He knocked his menu off the table and let out an exasperated noise as he bent to pick it up. His hand met Roman’s.

The actor swallowed and took a deep breath as he straightened up and handed the menu back, eyes downcast. “Did you mean it? About wanting to know more about them?”

“Not only the aspects,” Logan murmured, “but the person they make up as well. It’s been far too long since we’ve caught up, Roman.”

Roman’s cheeks were alight with red as he glanced up at the man across the table from him, almost uncharacteristically shy. “I’d like that. A lot. Please stay.”

Logan’s eyes softened behind his spectacles, and he sat again with a fond smile as his shoulders relaxed. “As you wish. Now, if I may ask, how many of these aspects are there?”

Roman settled in for a long talk. Inside his head, three imaginary versions of his friends settled in too. “Three, so far. I thought you’d be interested to know that they manifest as people I know. In fact, one of them takes after you….”


End file.
